


resurrection.

by Reymoni



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Resurrection, i am going to go sleep now, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28730640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reymoni/pseuds/Reymoni
Summary: “So you… killed me?” asked Wilbur, anxiously fingering the hole in his sweater.“I-- I did.” Phil sighed.“Then why am I not dead?”
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 39





	resurrection.

Wilbur opened his eyes. 

He looked down to find himself wrapped in bedsheets.  _ I respawned? No, that can’t be right… _ He was supposed to be dead. His final life had been taken. So why was he still  _ here-- _

He got out of the sheets and noticed his clothes had changed. The yellow sweater was his and he had worn it long ago, but it felt foreign. Perhaps it was the bloodied slit that had been slashed into the lower half of the piece of clothing. 

Wilbur tried to recall how it got there, but his thoughts were a muddled jumble of overwhelming nonsense. He looked around him and his eyes fixated on the gaping crater that was a result of the explosives he planted. But something was off. Vague memories of a button and the hole that remained of his country floated aimlessly in his mind, but were confusing and didn’t match up with his sight. The debris was smoking with black smoke, which he recognized as wither effect. Techno carried out what had been planned, then. What he didn’t recognize was the ominous obsidian grid hovering over the hole. He couldn’t figure out what it was used for, but he certainly didn’t plan for it. 

Hushed voices, somewhere behind him. Wilbur followed the sound to a gathering of people he felt were mostly familiar, the only one unrecognized was a tall creature that could only be described as half-enderman. Wilbur lit up when he laid eyes on his son, Fundy. He didn’t remember much about Fundy besides raising the part-fox during his childhood, but something was unsettling about him as well. His ears were laid flat on his head instead of perked up and energetic, and his expression was tired and concerned. 

One of the group took notice of his presence and turned around to greet him. “Hey, Will,” the blond man said, his voice cracking. The corners of his lips turned up in half a smile. Wilbur’s stomach turned. Seeing this man (again?) stirred his thoughts into an unintelligible whirlwind. Something was wrong about him and the memories Wilbur had of him, something was wrong, wrong,  _ wrong, bad badbadbad— _

“Will? You alright?”

Wilbur shook his head to clear his raging thoughts. “Yeah, um…” He pointed at the tall unfamiliar hybrid. “Who’s the enderman?”

“That’s Ranboo,” the man chuckled. Ranboo looked at his feet, averting his gaze. “How are  _ you _ , Will? What’s the last thing you remember?” 

Wilbur could feel the piercing gaze of everyone as they observed him with concern and intrigue. 

“The button,” he said quietly. 

They all murmured dissent and turned to discuss amongst themselves in hushed tones again. Wilbur’s anxiety rose quickly,  _ what are they saying, do they hate me? For blowing up L’Manberg? Are they going to kill me? Am I going to die again-- _

Wilbur’s eyes were wide and frantic, fixating uncomfortably at the diamond sword dripping blood in the blond’s grip. Wilbur’s entire body was shaking and his legs were unsteady. The man crouched down slowly and put the sword down, standing back up and kicking it away. Wilbur flinched at the sudden noise. 

“Who are you?” he blurted out, the question directed at the blonde man with the striped hat. He turned around to look at Wilbur, then pointed a finger at himself. 

“Me?” Wilbur nodded. 

He stood frozen for a moment, then said, “I’m Phil.”

“Oh.” 

_ Kill me Phil! Stab me with the sword!  _ Wilbur shook his head violently as the unpleasant memories resurfaced.

“So you… killed me?” asked Wilbur, anxiously fingering the hole in his sweater.

“I-- I did.” Phil sighed. 

“Then why am I not dead?”

“We brought you back,” said Fundy, his voice as exhausted as his expression. Everyone else nodded. 

“Why?” 

No answer.

Wilbur chuckled softly. “What reason would you have to bring me back? I was a terrible president, a shit father, a shit  _ son _ \--”

“You weren’t a terrible president, Wilbur,” said Tubbo, stepping forward from his place behind the group. “You started this great nation and led us to independence.” Tubbo’s voice broke. “I was the president who let his country blow up twice.”

_ Twice?  _ “So I was a bad influence, too? What do you need me for? Why did you bring me back just to  _ kill _ me all over again--” In a flash, Wilbur picked up the sword from the ground and held it up defensively.

“Woah Will, calm down,” said Phil, cautiously stepping closer to Wilbur and helping him put the sword down. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

“ _ You _ wanted to come back, Wilbur,” said Tubbo. “You didn’t want to be a ghost anymore.”

“Ghost--?” Wilbur stuttered.

“Ghostbur is gone,” said Phil to Tubbo. He turned back to Wilbur. “What matters now is that  _ you’re _ here, Will, and you’re alive again. You can start fresh. L’manberg’s nothing more than a fucking hole now.” 

Tears began to fill Wilbur’s eyes as he was overwhelmed with emotion. “I’m sorry, dad,” he sobbed.

Phil wrapped his arms around Wilbur in a warm embrace. “It’s alright now, son.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was written sleep deprived at 2 am ;-;


End file.
